Tuesday, May 5, 2009

2-2: Apartement

Geneviève
poured the coffee. 'Well Hugh - are you as bad as Philippe?'

‘Look,
I agree that women aren’t saints and that good men get absolutely
nowhere - three years and still I can't get you to decide - that
women forever waste their time trying to make bad men good and end up
in a mix of sex and tears for their pains but using that as a
justification to go behind the back of someone who’s besotted with
him – that’s just wrong.

Everyone
makes mistakes or suddenly falls - happens all the time but to turn
it into a system to assuage your ego - no, I can’t accept that from
either a man or a woman. If you don’t want a person - then stop
playing with them!’

‘Someone
really hurt you in the past … didn’t she?’

‘Yes.’

'I
do hear you.' She pondered. ‘What was the proposition Philippe put
to Louise?’

‘For
her to tell him about you and me, to have definite dirt on us both.’

‘And
what was the carrot?’

‘That
he’d leave you and go to her.’

‘I
see.’

‘Let's
be fair though. I have no particular reason to like Philippe but I
know the man would never do such a thing – with you he was always
onto a winner.’

‘But
what was in it for you? And why would Philippe come to you in the
first place, at the hospital?’

‘He
was fishing for snippets, of course – trying to put two and two
together about you and me. I told him to ask Louise directly, to lay
the ghost to rest. How did you know he visited me anyway - did he
tell you?’

‘Hugh,
I think there's something you’d best hear.’ She walked across to
his answer machine and wound it back three or four messages, pressed
‘replay’ and some work related messages came up.

Then
the one from Philippe. She scrutinized him carefully as he listened
but he was smiling.

There
was one new message immediately after it - a cultured voice, not
Philippe’s, and yet somehow familiar to her. ‘Hugh, she’ll be
taken care of. Same terms as last time, all right?’

‘I
was thinking, why would Philippe bother phoning me, knowing I was in
the hospital?’

‘And
the second message?’

‘That?
Oh, that’s a clear set-up, isn’t it? Same terms as last time?
What last time? Also, think about it, Genie. I’m in hospital. Let’s
say I’d made a deal with this man. You can gather his level of
intelligence and breeding - you think he’d leave such a message on
an answer machine, a message I’d have had no opportunity to erase?’

‘He
can’t have known I’d be bringing you home.’

‘And
just who else was going to bring me home? Who else had my keys and
the run of the flat, a known factor?’

She
stopped and thought that one through. ‘Of course, it could be you
behind it, Hugh, I mean - you have the intelligence and you have the
mischievous mind.’

‘From
the hospital, yes? To what end?’

‘To
make me yours.’

‘I
can’t see how a head-on with a truck is a good scheme for achieving
that end. I can’t see how those two messages now, which clearly
make you worry would be part of my cunning plan to get you. Also,
at the risk of being arrogant, I thought I was doing reasonably well
with you. Think it through, Genie.’

She
smiled. ‘So, do you have a theory?’

‘Yes,
I do. Seems to me it’s aimed at unsettling you and rendering you
ineffective. With the girls you’ve recently lost and now with me
supposedly plotting against you, that person is trying to isolate you
from your support base.’

‘And
yet you’ve had two attacks and I’ve had none as yet, touch wood.’

‘And
neither has Nicolette and neither had I, except when we were close to
you. Have you thought about that one, my love?’

‘What
must we do, in your opinion?’

'Phone
the Inspector, of course and tell him what we’ve planned.’

‘Is
that wise?’

‘I’d
say it’s vital. We’re under surveillance anyway, so best to state
our case up front and get it into the open, rather than try to solve
it ourselves. Personally, I trust that man.’

She
looked at him and reached for the phone, there was a lot of
oui-oui-ing, she hung up and thirty minutes after that, the lights
were turned out, Hugh remaining on his recliner in the front room, as
it had the angle his upper body required and Geneviève was in the
bedroom.

He
drowsed off.

.o0o.

Forty
minutes after that, he vaguely heard her mobile ring next door.

Not
thirty seconds after that, he could feel her choked breathing near
him in the living room, standing in her lace underwear in the middle
of the rug, hands loose by her sides. He managed to push both
blankets onto the floor and ordered her to put them around her. She
appeared to be in shock and he could barely move.

‘Genie!’
No response.

‘Genie!’
Still no response.

‘Damn
it, Genie, come here!’

She
said, woodenly, ‘Louise is dead. Come next door.’

With
her help, he stood up on the operational leg, placed his arm over her
shoulder, keeping as much weight off her as possible and half hopped
the twenty or so paces to his room. She had to pile pillows up to
make the angle right but still pain shot through him from time to
time.

She
was sobbing half the night.

.o0o.

In
the morning, they were both washed out as she announced, ‘I have to
go down to identify her at 10:00, then meet the Inspector. I’ll
come back later with food or else I’ll send Nicolette.’

‘Pardon?’

‘Nicolette
- you know.’

‘You
mean the one you've kept hidden away for three and a half years?’

She
ignored that. ‘If I can’t come, someone will have to.’

‘Does
she speak English?’

‘Rudimentary,
like mine.’

‘You
speak excellent English, especially as you don’t need it in your
work.’

‘Speak
a little of your classic French with her at first, all right? I have
to go.’

'Help
me to the recliner first.'

'Naturally.'

.o0o.

Alone
at last, he was able to put in one or two phone calls of his own, not
realizing that the destination of those calls had been registered on
a log at 15 rue de Villiers. Geneviève had left nothing to chance.

He
thought long and hard. ‘No but Francine is important to me. She’s
my future.’

‘She
‘was’ your future, you mean.’

‘She’ll
take me back. She was at her mother’s those five nights.’

III

Jean-Claude
Guiscard had not been idle. He welcomed Geneviève and she noticed
the dossier on his desk was beginning to bulge.

He
was a tidy man.

Dressed
immaculately, his swept back greying hair and craggy, drawn look
spoke of many storms weathered out on life’s ocean - with his fair
share of female admirers along the way, she warranted.

‘Mademoiselle,
you’ve just come direct from the morgue – desole,’ he said,
with unfeigned sympathy. ‘You haven’t been back to your own
apartment since yesterday?’

‘Non.’

‘May
I ask about your intentions towards M. Jensen? I keep returning to
this question, Mademoiselle, for good reason. In return, I’ll play
fair with you and tell you what we have so far.’

Geneviève
composed herself. ‘He’s close to me, we've been lovers and I
myself need him now.’ To Guiscard’s frozen expression, she
replied, ‘I have to decide on him very soon.’

‘Did
you detail M. Martin to watch over your apartment last night?’

‘No,
why?’ She was genuinely surprised.

‘M.
Martin was seen entering your apartment block about 23:00 - twenty
minutes after the time of –’

‘Oui.’

‘Does
M. Martin have a key to your downstairs door?’

‘Not
that I know of - I certainly never gave him one.’

‘Who
does have both keys?’

‘Nicolette
Vasseur, my ... um ... assistant. Philippe did have a set, of course,
but the locks have been changed. What does Jean-Baptist say?’

‘We
didn’t apprehend him, Mademoiselle – we just observed.’

‘I
see.’

‘Tell
me about Mlle Vasseur - have you implicit faith in her? Has she been
with you long?’

‘That’s
two questions, Inspector.’

‘Take
your time then.’

Geneviève
gave the inspector’s questions due consideration. ‘As far as one
can, I trust Nicolette. She’s personally put herself out for me
more times than I care to remember. And technically, she’s been
working with me almost ten years, though I’ve known her for far
longer than that.’

‘Mademoiselle,
I know of your Section, how it began, when it began. You were very
young at that time.’

‘We
were almost twenty.’

‘That’s
considerable trust placed in ones so young.’

‘Philippe
and a lady who is still operational helped in the early years. We
wouldn’t have succeeded otherwise.’

‘Where
do you consider Mlle Vasseur’s loyalties are, apart from to
yourself? Does she get on with M. Legrand, was she friendly towards
Mlle Bonnet? Can you give me anything on that?’

‘Honestly,
I haven’t yet analysed that aspect of it. All I can say is she’s
been incredibly supportive through my – er – breakup and I think
she’d tear Philippe limb from limb if he were to reappear today.’

‘She
was in your flat when M. Martin entered the building.’

‘That’s
so. I asked her to stay there. I wanted to see if Philippe would come
back and try to break in.’

‘But
M. Legrand did not return to your flat. In fact, Mademoiselle Bonnet
was visited by a dark blue BMW Series 7.’

She
paled. ‘No, Inspector, I can’t believe Philippe killed her.’

‘But
it’s his car, his registration. We have M. Legrand in custody.’

‘May
I – er – see him?’

‘This
evening only, after 19:00. Phone my mobile about 18:30, if you’re
still interested. Mademoiselle, do you plan to stay at your own
apartment tonight?’

‘A
very good question, Inspector.’

‘May
I strongly advise against it? M. Jensen’s apartment was guarded
last night and will be so tonight. Take Mlle Vasseur and the two of
you can stay there.’

‘Administratively
convenient for you, Inspector?’

‘There
are a number of reasons, some of which may also have crossed your
mind. One of them is that I’d like to see your flat empty tonight.
It should tell us much.’

IV

Nicolette
took the call on her mobile. ‘Oui? Really? Now that is interesting,
isn’t it? Oui, I have enough money. Me? I’m fine – he
didn’t hurt me much – he ran out almost immediately. M. Jensen
will speak a little French? I see – non, I won’t laugh.
Mademoiselle – I promise to keep a straight face.

How
do you want me to ring his doorbell? Je comprends, je comprends.
No, no one called here – oh yes, Elaine did, she wants me to meet
her later. Right Mademoiselle. Je comprends. Comprends,
d’accord.’

She
closed the mobile and smiled. So, she was going to meet
Mademoiselle’s famous M. Hugh at long last. What would she wear?
She didn't want to overdo it - from what she'd heard, he was perhaps
a bit ... ineligible and no one had understood Mademoiselle's opinion
of him.

Well,
she was about to find out and the situation called for something
restrained and understated but nonetheless stunning ... in a quiet
kind of way, of course.

V

Geneviève
drove home along rue de Reuilly to collect her things. She adored the
last section of this drive; in spring and summer, the greenery and
shaded paths were soothing although not so much now, of course.

She
swung off into her lane, past the little square. The cars were banked
up and down the lane, making it a tight squeeze but she found space
not far from the apartment, got out, blipped the alarm and strode
towards the downstairs door.

A
man stepped out and blocked her way.

About
180cm and stocky, he looked quite a handful; she let her hand steal
towards the clip of her bag, in which she kept the mace. He smiled.
‘No need for that, Mademoiselle.’ He took out his wallet and
showed his badge.

‘Sergeant,
why can’t I go into my flat?’

‘You
really want to meet M. Martin in there?’

‘He’s
in there – again?’ She was shocked.

‘Mademoiselle,
please drive away, now – it might already be too late if he’s
seen you. You have M. Guiscard’s number? Good – phone in about an
hour and a half and all will be explained.

VI

Hugh
took the call from Genie about 13:00.

‘I’m
delayed, Hugh – I have to speak with the Inspector. Nicolette will
be there in about fifteen minutes. She’ll be wearing a dark blue
fur-lined coat, kidskin boots and her hair is worn up. She’ll ring
on the doorbell this way -’

She
imitated the morse code ring with her voice, much to Hugh’s
amusement. ‘She’ll work about the place and discuss food shopping
with you. I’ll give her some cash and we can settle later, when
you’re up and about. By the way, could you put Nicolette and myself
up for a few days? Thanks, you’re a darling.’

She
rang off before he could register a response. He looked at the
handset a few moments, then replaced it. This was going to be
interesting.

The
mysterious Nicolette, eh? He'd heard about her, of course, that she
was pretty, that she couldn't seem to get a man to commit to her,
that she was a femme fatale but also briskly efficient.

Well,
he was about to find out.

.o0o.

The
bell rang almost on cue, the key turned in the lock and suddenly,
there she was, carrying three bags of supplies and a sports bag of
clothes, which she deposited on the hallway floor, then turned to
him, dropped her eyes and delivered: ‘M. Jensen, bonjour.’

'Oh
my goodness, three and a half years and now I know why,' he thought
he'd murmured to himself but she'd heard it from the hallway, her
English was good and her ears even better, she blushed, the last
thing she'd wanted to do.

From
where she stood, he certainly wasn't as bad as some of the stories
had made out and his smile was kind. If you could get past his years
and the gyps, there was also a vibrant sharpness which surprised her.

She
noted the mischievous eyes.

‘Bienvenue,
Mademoiselle – ench-chante.'

Good,
she liked that - yet she knew she was being scrutinized all the same.

Having
removed her scarf in a flurry of unwinding and hung it up, it now
fell down; she stared at it in shock for a second or two, immobile -
the sheer temerity of the scarf to fall down like that - she broke
free from herself and bobbed down, turning ever so slightly on the
balls of her feet, picked up the scarf, rapidly wound it up and
placed it on the hall table, removed and hung up her coat, holding it
briefly on its peg - willing it not to fall down; satisfied, she spun
round and bobbed down again to remove her boots, acutely conscious
that he was drinking all of this in.

When
the zip at the top of her right boot refused to budge, she frowned
and cursed softly in French, making the situation worse and worse and
worse, in a silent, slow-motion, Clouseau comedy of errors.

The
flat was utterly, utterly silent other than for this.

‘Secours,
Mademoiselle?’

‘Non,
merci,’ her face scrunched up, as if that would release the zip.

Finally
she did it, saw slippers - he continued the Russian tradition of many
pairs for guests - she lightly pounced and put the fluffiest on.

‘Je
suis scié - voila un missile de Geneviève,’ he breathed.

‘Pardon,
Monsieur?’ she affected not to hear, even though she'd heard
exactly what he'd said and she'd blushed yet again; anyway, it gave
her her entrance, she came through and stood on the small rug, far
too close, way too close and the fragrance filled his mind, along
with the thighs under that navy skirt, the fingers, those lips.
'Pardon?'

‘Rien,
rien,' he croaked and a smile played tremulously at the corners of
her lips, 'un café, Mademoiselle?’

She
gazed down at him evenly, those big, grey-blue eyes not mocking, just
taking him in, refusing to go away and leave him in peace. Sweet
mercy, his own eyes involuntarily narrowed and he suddenly wished
they hadn't because when he opened them a half-second later, that
smile was certainly back on the corner of her lips.

‘Er
- v - voulez-vous un café?’ he repeated, passing off his
embarrassment and she was well aware he couldn't keep his eyes from
the small bulges under her cream coloured blouse ... the one with the
lace yoke.

She
stood stock still, staring at him, then burst into the giggles.
Why? What had he just said? ‘Oh Monsieur,’ she dropped into
lilting English, dabbing at her eyes, ‘you just asked me about
going to the toilet.’

‘D’accord,
si vous voulez,’ and she had this habit of pronouncing words
distinctly, the sibilant ever so slightly drawn out, the words going
straight through him.

‘Vous
me permettez vous appeller Nicolette?’

‘Pourquoi
pas? Je m’appelle Nicolette.’

She
now turned, went to the hall and picked up the supplies to stow in
the kitchen, calling out in English, 'We can speak in English, you
know. I liked your French - maybe we can speak un peu d'un, un peu
d'autre.

'Mademoiselle,
let's not pretend. The atmosphere in here now is electric, you'd
agree?' She nodded. 'And neither of us can understand why.' She
gave a curt nod. He sighed. 'There were so many things which hit
me when you walked through that door but only two got under the
guard. May I tell you?'

Her
smile answered that.

'All
right, the first one. Do you believe in types? Do you
believe we subconsciously look for certain things in another person?
We possibly couldn't list these but when we see them, we know.
Now I understand why you have been kept away from me.'

She
pulled the armchair up close to the recliner and by doing that, the
skirt rode up just a little, enough to accentuate her thighs, which
she knew fullwell, as she'd practised it often enough and he had to
will his eyes away.

'Continuez.'

'The
second unplanned thing was that you went red when you couldn't undo
your boot.' She blushed again. 'You show things you
intend for me to see such as your thighs now,' she blushed again,
'and then there are things you detest, like blushing and they steal a
man's heart, leaving him without breath.'

'Monsieur
- Hugh - enough.' She looked away.

'I
do see the Nicolette
they all talk about, the haughty femme-fatale,the efficient head of Section but
I also also see what I was not expecting - a person who cares, who
can be anxious. That's the Nicolette who has dismantled my
defences.'

She
just looked at him, not knowing how to reply. 'You have finished?'

'Your
dress sense too - not loudly expensive, just beautifully cut and the
colours very much you. You think things through, you take such
care. Simple, elegant, alluring.'

She
was lost for words, not a common occurrence for her.

Finally,
she found them. 'Monsieur, Hugh. I think you don't know much
about me if you think I am all those things. To everyone else, I am
just Nicolette, who comes here, goes there, does this and fixes that.
You pay me all those compliments, so why am I still alone?'

'Because
we have only met now.'

She
gasped, he'd not meant to say that and now looked down quickly,
looked away.

She
just stared at him. 'I ... I have to ... do some work.'

'D'accord.'

.o0o.

He
tried valiantly not to, he genuinely did but his eyes followed
everything she did. The way she wiped, for example, the living room
window sill, had him lost for words - he'd follow those bare arms and
beautiful fingers, she’d hold the cloth on her open palm, approach
the sill, stare at it a moment or two, then bend from the hips and
wipe from end to end, in an arcing motion, step back, survey her
handiwork, wrinkle her nose, then do the same from the other end,
using about two dozen muscles in the process.

And
that voice again - he'd now tumbled to why he loved it. As well as
the long sibilant "ssss", it was the way she held the last
syllable of a sentence, until it had sort of settled onto her
listener - she cared and he cared and he was hungry for her.

She
knew the words had got under her guard but she'd also liked the
mischievous manner and the soft voice. She'd need to be careful.

.o0o.

She
finished up her work, cleaned up in the bathroom, packed her small
bag and just before leaving, made a detour to his recliner.

There
was no mechanism for this farewell, he held out his good hand, she
took it.

'Ever
the English gentleman,' she chuckled.

.o0o.

About
15:40, Geneviève herself appeared.

Nicolette
had gone for the car an hour and a half earlier, in order to drive
her to see Philippe shortly after 19:00, having once more made a hash
of her right boot. Later they’d return to Hugh’s place and make
him supper.

Geneviève
placed herself in what was fast becoming her favourite seat in the
living room, facing the window.

He
spoke first. ‘You’d agree, would you not, Genie, that there are
anomalies in this accident business?’

‘Undoubtedly.’

‘And
can a solution to the mystery be found if people continue to withhold
information from each other?’

‘Ah.’
She saw where he was headed but let him run with the ball for the
present.

‘You,
the Inspector and I are all trying to solve this thing ourselves and
we’re waiting for the others to open up, which the others are
hoping we’ll do. We’re each holding pieces to the puzzle and
refusing to lay them down.

Now
either we wish to solve this thing or we don’t. If we don’t, then
we continue to keep things back and the others need to scrutinize why
we are doing that. If we do wish to solve it, then we pool our
resources. Do you see any flaw in that reasoning?’

‘None
whatever,’ she answered non-committally.

‘Genie,
you’re holding out.’

She
didn’t reply but went to the kitchen, switched on the coffee-maker,
then came back to her armchair. ‘All right, Hugh – time to pool
our resources. When I return from the Inspector, we’ll talk.’

VII

‘Hello,
Philippe.’

Inspector
Guiscard sat to one side of the room, engaged in lighting a seemingly
uncooperative pipe.

Philippe
made no reply.

‘All
right, Philippe, I wish I could be 100% sure Louise Bonnet’s blood
is not on your hands.’

‘Speak
to my advocate.’

‘Philippe?’
For a moment she appealed to the old Philippe, the one who might
still be present, if she could only find him. Things might
miraculously change for the better – they could always change for
the better. ‘Philippe, I just wanted to see you one more time.’

He
glanced up at that but she’d already gone. In a state of emotional
turmoil, she swept down the stairs to the carpark entrance where
Nicolette was to wait; there was a searing pain through her skull and
darkness closed in around her.

VIII

‘Inspector?’

‘Speaking,
M. Jensen.’

‘Could
you tell me what time Mlle Lavaquerie left you?’

‘About
19:50, Monsieur.’

‘Neither
she nor Nicolette have come back and they don’t answer their
mobiles. No one answers at Genie’s apartment.’

‘Perhaps
they went to the apartment of Mlle Vasseur?’

‘I
don’t have that number.’

‘I
do. It might be best, M. Jensen, if I did the phoning. Can you move
around at all? Could you secure your flat and not open it to anyone -
especially to those two ladies? Open only to me, understood?’

‘Understood.’

‘If
they come back to your flat, do they have the keys?’

‘Oui.’

‘Can
you bolt the front door?’

‘Oui.’

‘I’m
going to be at your apartment in just under an hour. I’ll phone you
as I approach - you’ll give me some sort of code, some way of
ringing the bell, to verify that it’s me.’

‘Understood.’

‘We
have CCTV in our carpark, so it’s a starting point. See you soon.’

.o0o.

True
to his word, he telephoned from his mobile about an hour later and
Hugh went through a rigmarole with him to verify his identity. Then
he begged the Inspector to give him about two minutes to get to the
door.

.o0o.

First
through was Guiscard, second was a most unwell Geneviève, her head
swathed in bandages, tended by the ever-present Nicolette, followed
by a nurse and finally, the Inspector’s burly Senior-Sergeant,
Jacques Fournier.

It
was a crowded flat at that moment.

There
were no explanations, but Guiscard asked if he could use Hugh’s
phone as his base for now. He was occupied for the best part of seven
or eight minutes, whilst the nurse and Nicolette put Genie to bed in
Hugh’s bedroom, the nurse giving her copious instructions as to
Geneviève’s rest and recuperation.

Surrounded
by this mayhem, the Senior-Sergeant attending to Guiscard’s barked
instructions, Hugh lay on his recliner and couldn’t help but think
that his guests were making themselves very much at home, not that
that was a problem, of course.

Guiscard
brought Hugh up to date on the current situation. ‘I can tell you
the actual attack was by a small time criminal; M. Martin was
involved, but he was also under orders.’

Hugh
heard the sound of the coffee maker and various other rumblings in
the kitchen and eight minutes later, Nicolette reappeared with a
light repast for all. Observing Hugh’s look, her eyes looked away
and Guiscard turned quizzical eyes towards him.

‘Don’t
ask,’ was Hugh’s rejoinder. ‘By the way, Inspector, where did
you find the ladies?’

‘In
Mlle Lavaquerie’s apartment. Mlle Vasseur had been chloroformed. It
wasn’t a brilliant operation from them, really. Perhaps it’s a
great impertinence, M. Jensen, but I’ve arranged for a locksmith to
come round within the hour to change the main lock on your door - no
need for any drilling. Will you authorize the change? Just quietly, I
think your life might depend on it.’

Hugh
nodded his assent.

.o0o.

The
man came, the lock was changed, the three numbered keys were issued,
the numbers registered on the card which Guiscard took away with him,
along with the third key; the Senior Sergeant and the nurse went with
him, bidding Nicolette and Hugh adieu.

The
instant the door was closed, Nicolette turned and went straight to
the bedroom, to reappear a few minutes later with Geneviève.

‘Hello,
Hugh,’ she smiled weakly.

‘Are
you in pain?’

She
replied in the negative and Hugh asked, ‘Are you ready for some
more shocks?’

‘What
do you mean?’

‘After
you went to identify Louise, I made two phone calls. One was to Anya
in Russia, asking her to e-mail me the names of anyone Louise had
been friendly with in Shadzhara. My second call was to your flat.’

‘My
flat?’ She dropped into non-committal mode. But they both heard the
suppressed gasp from the kitchen. ‘Nikki, come here and tell Hugh
about it.’

She
entered the living room, removing a pair of rubber gloves. ‘Are you
sure, Mademoiselle?’

‘Go
ahead.’

‘I
was in Mademoiselle’s flat, Monsieur Martin came to the door –
the light was out – he opened it and came in.’

‘And?’

‘I
hit him with a pan from the kitchen but it wasn’t hard enough. He
didn’t hurt me much.’

In
the middle of the night, he was uncomfortable on his recliner and his
limbs were aching, plus he could hear one of the women moving about.

He
drifted off again but a short time later became aware of a presence
nearby and went into his customary wait-at-the-ready posture.

Then
he saw her out of a half-opened eye.

She
was standing in the middle of the rug where Geneviève had stood the
night before, wearing one of his tops and that was all. It
hardly covered her hips.

There
was nothing on her feet either and her bare toes were wiggling.
This was unfair.

She
swiftly approached the recliner, knelt on the rug beside him at an
angle and as she leaned over his gyps and lowered her face to his,
the lightest fragrance of Opium filled his senses.

‘Nicolette
-'

She
put a fingertip to his lips and left it there just a fraction too
long.

Looking
straight into his eyes, not altogether calm, she placed her palm on
the nape of his neck and lowered her lips, placing a kiss, pulled
back, seemed to like it and lowered her lips for another, this time
more passionate but when he responded with his tongue, she blocked
him, when he desisted, she darted hers inside playfully, sat back on
her haunches and gazed at him.

Suddenly,
she shuffled down on her knees, pulled the bedding back near his
hips, pushed the elastic of the boxers down, he was hard at
attention, she lowered her lips and he felt the heat as she made
contact then continued all the way to the hilt, she held it for what
must have been ten seconds, then slowly withdrew, shuffled back to
him on her knees, leaned over the gyps and took a final kiss.

She
jumped up and the shirt swirled around, revealing that which was
planned to be seen, turned for the door and ran straight into the
immobile form of Geneviève, head still in bandages.

‘Mademoiselle!’

‘Come
to bed, Nikki, it’s late.’

He
wanted her so badly. She was just so ... utterly outrageous.
Toying with him as a lioness might with its prey. She
could have done anything and yet he'd surely have stopped ... surely
... because of Geneviève.

Bold,
oh so bold was Nikki, so quick to set the agenda, so superlative in
doing him over, so intoxicating. Forward, quick but everything
she'd done she'd telegraphed for that split second to allow his body
to refuse, to disagree but any lack of motion, any hesitancy gave her
her permission in her book. Such a combination of respect,
reverence, forthrightness, delicacy and intoxicating femininity.

He
was gone, utterly gone and what of Genie? Sudden horror at what
he'd done - Genie wasn't this kind of person, she was artless and
artless was honest and she had every right to expect his fidelity.

Yet
he knew in his heart she'd sent Nikki - why? To extract
herself from him the easy way, by offloading him? To test him
out?

To
test him out. Yes. And he'd failed miserably. He
asked the darkness to judge him - could any man have resisted that
assault on the senses just now? Quid pro quo for his earlier
assault on her ears. He should have resisted.

The
morning would tell all. But for now he wanted inside her and
couldn't force it out of his mind. He turned with difficulty
and faced the wall.

...

Next
door, both women lay facing away from each other, not speaking, deep
in thought.

Nicolette
was disturbed, not by how readily he'd accepted it all but by
how readily she herself had crossed into Mademoiselle's territory.
She stared at the wall. Whenever they saw one another
now, she and Hugh, that guilty secret was always going to be there.
The rules of engagement had now been rewritten, hadn't they?

Why
had she gone that far? The kiss had been agreed. That other
hadn't. She could feel that shaft now.

Geneviève
stared at the wall too. That kiss she'd just seen - she hadn't
liked it because it was far from the shy, tentative kiss they'd
agreed.

.o0o.

In
the morning, Geneviève felt physically better but she was quiet. She
made the breakfast and sent Nicolette out shopping for
replenishments.

On
the way out, Nikki paused at the living room door, putting on her
outerwear, looking over at him, allowing him to watch the whole
exercise. She just stood there, looking at him, could think of no
adequate words and left.

Geneviève
came through with the makings and set them out.

‘Will
you speak first or shall I, Hugh?’

‘Ladies
first.’

‘Do
you think her kiss meant anything?’

He
didn’t bat an eyelid. ‘Why did you allow it?’

‘She
goes where I go – it’s her job. But she had no business in your
room, at that time ... and you just accepted it.'

‘Genie,
stop. You’ve kept Nicolette well out of my sight for three and a
half years, then, just as you’re about to decide on me, you play
your most seductive card on a man with a past history of weakness for
just such a girl. And were you furious with me, did you walk over and
slap my face or tell me to get away from you?

You
set that up ... didn't you?’

He
paused to let her get a word in but she was silent.

‘Nikki
had countless opportunities to make herself unavailable yesterday.
She could have failed to answer my stupid questions, she could have
shown frustration and got on with her work. She didn’t do either of
those things. Instead, she wiggled her toes, not to mention her
bottom. She allowed her thighs to be seen. Now why would
she do that?’

Geneviève
was tight-lipped but still did not wish to speak. He went on.

‘When
she appeared, I was sure you’d sent her, I knew I must never touch
her but there's no human defence against someone who does as she did.
I'm not made of marble.’

She’d
been considering her reply. ‘On the verge of accepting you, Hugh,
I had to know. Yes, I kept her back from you. Yes, I suggested she
flirt with you. That was no flirting though, was it? Nikki
didn’t know you at all before today so what on earth happened?’

‘She
did know me – from her own work partner and from your many comments
over time, from what she’d picked up for herself too. She’s
sharp and that’s why you keep her close to you. I really don't
know what happened - she has me confused.’

Geneviève
came over and gingerly kneeled beside his recliner - not a position
she was accustomed to.

‘That’s
not comfortable for you. Sit on the recliner.’

‘It’s
fine. Let me explain about her, Hugh. Nikki has a general
distrust and distaste for men as a species because of certain things
in her past. Her work involves compromising corrupt men - her
nerves are good and she has no respect for them.

Something
happened in a very short time yesterday with the pair of you, she
came to you in the middle of the night and you just accepted what she
offered without a word. That looks bad in my eyes. Please
give Nicolette up.’

‘There's
nothing to give up - she was playing with me, Genie, you know that.
There's nothing to give up because there's nothing more she wants
from me. She was nervous and excited with the novelty but she
also showed me glimpses of her power and she really does have power,
doesn't she?’

The
doorbell rang, Geneviève got up, uncramped her legs and
went to the spyhole.

It
was Nicolette, carrying packets. She flung open the door and
decided the two of them were going to have a little heart-to-heart.

X

On
Sunday, Inspector Guiscard took the call on his mobile. He detested
being called away on his day of rest and now it looked as if he might
have to.

A
tall, rangy man, patient, thoughtful, a little pedantic in manner but
quite astute, he had the reputation of never taking anything on
trust. They'd joked that his wife had probably needed to carry ID
herself, more or less semi-permanently.

Two
years ago that joke had ceased.

He
was as tenacious as a French terrier and thorough too, which made for
a fine officer and he’d risen through the ranks, insisted on doing
it the hard way, in fact. There could have been strings pulled for
him but he was having none of that.

One
thing which ability alone does not give you is a nose for the truth
and Inspector Guiscard had both in abundance.

‘Oui?
Oui? Right. Elaine Cabrel, you say?’

He
wrote the name down on the pad with one of the dozen or so pencils he
kept sharpened on his desk. ‘How can I help you, Mademoiselle? Are
you sure? What proof do you have? Non, don’t tell me over the phone
- can you come in, within the next hour? I see. D’accord, d’accord,
I’ll be there in an hour. What are you wearing? I see. Me? I’ll
be wearing my badge, Mademoiselle.’

He
put down the phone, issued several rapid instructions to the two
officers seated close by him and all three left the building.

Rue
de Clichy was not the place to drive to on a Sunday morning. People
hobbling home, derelicts with no home, slumped on street corners,
Pigalle itself – it was not the place for a Sunday drive.